


The Five Husbands of Gabriel Gray

by takhallus



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takhallus/pseuds/takhallus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelly Noble has the power to create multiple universes, but when Sylar takes it it forces a catastrophic chain of events. His future self must now force him to choose one of the five universes he has unwittingly set into motion. Five worlds, five husbands, but which will he choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Husbands of Gabriel Gray

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Heroes Big Boom on Livejournal and beta read by Sylargrrrl

Prologue

Sylar blinked into nothingness. All was white, all was quiet, like some lazy movie interpretation of heaven. All he needed now was either a black or female actor, or possibly both, as God to seal the cliche. Instead, he saw himself.

"I know what you're thinking. And no, Angela Basset isn't going to appear as the Almighty any time soon, so relax. I'm from the future."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "And let me guess, I need to change my ways? You should know me better than that." His instincts told him to use power, but which? What had happened?

"You change your ways as often as you change your underwear so this shouldn't be a shock to the system. Kelly Noble."

"She had to go I'm afraid. You know what she can do. What I can do."

"I know, because I took it too, and I messed everything up because I couldn't stop myself. You have to choose which reality you want, you can't have them all."

Sylar's eyebrow twitched. "So I can have them all, I just shouldn't?"

"If you try, you'll end the world. You'll warp reality so badly that your life, your lives, will all run together, banging and crashing. You'll go insane, everyone will. Nothing will mean anything, you have to choose, or you'll be the ruler of a broken kingdom."

"But I will rule it?" He smirked.

Anger building inside him, the future Sylar set his jaw. "I'm stronger than you, I'm going to force your path for a while. You'll find yourself in each reality by turn and when they're done, you have to choose. When you do you'll be returned to your present. You might want to practise your surprised face."

"How can I choose when they're five completely different lives, this is ridiculous."

"Simple, I'm going to put you with each of your husbands. Seems like we're old fashioned boys at heart. Just wanna settle down. You have to pick one."

"What if I refuse?"

Future Sylar grinned, and disappeared. The white light faded.

Husband #1- Mohinder Suresh

Rubbing at his eyes in frustration as the spots of light dispersed, Sylar focused on the door. The door to Mohinder's old apartment. His first thought was that Mohinder was so stuck in his ways that he hadn't moved on from the same place that so much of his life's heartbreak had occurred. He patted his pocket and pulled out a key on a keyring which said 'World's Best Husband'. "Oh Christ..." He sighed and turned the key in the door.

The smell of cooking hit him as the door opened and he stepped inside. "Mohinder?" He glanced around and saw no-one. Maybe someone else had moved into Mohinder's apartment. Maybe he had. God forbid he would make a shrine out of this place. "Hello?"

"Don't touch anything!"

Mohinder's voice drifted in from the bedroom as Sylar looked around for things he could touch to irritate him. There were steaming pans on the cooker and Sylar couldn't help but peep inside. Curry. Something sparked in his memory, a little synaptic pop which led nowhere.

"I should have said 'Please touch things Sylar, it's imperative.' You'd think I'd have learned by now." Mohinder took the pan lid from him and replaced it. "And before you say anything, I did this because I felt like it, not because you told me to."

Sylar watched him walk away. They couldn't be married. It wasn't in either of them. Something had to be wrong. "What, no kiss? I believe it's customary."

"Huh." Mohinder ignored him, going to sit on the couch.

Unpeturbed, Sylar followed. "So how was your day?" He settled down next to Mohinder and tried not to get angry when he immediately shuffled down and away from him.

"My day was strikingly similar to that of an Indian housewife from the 1940s thank you so much en nanga."

Sylar mused on how difficult it was to unravel an argument in any situation, let alone when you weren't there at the start. Only one option remained. He put an arm around Mohinder's shoulder and one firmly on his thigh. "I'm sorry."

Mohinder looked at him, steely eyed. "What are you sorry for?"

"For....making you feel that way. I didn't mean to and I apologise. What can I do to make it up to you?" This was like speaking a foreign language for Sylar but he persisted. His choice had to be based on a typical day in their 'marriage' and if that meant pressing the reset button on an argument in which he was clearly right, then so be it.

Mohinder seemed to soften, and then immediately hate himself for it. "You can eat everything I put in front of you and never complain about it again. If you wanted to marry a stereotype you should have warned me. What's next? Bollywood dancing after dinner?"

Ah, so that was it. Sylar did love curry, if he thought it was an option he would ask anyone he married to cook it for him. Trust Mohinder to take umbridge like the martyr he was. "I won't ever ask again, God forbid you would want to embrace your heritage and that I, as your husband, would encourage you."

"Embrace my..! How many times have I asked you, no begged you to visit Chennai with me and how many times have you rolled your eyes and said we were both too busy?" Mohinder huffed and folded his arms. "You are unbelievable sometimes."

"Let's go then, let's go as soon as possible." Sylar could make as many promises as he wanted, he realised. He wasn't going to be the one to see them through. Not yet anyway. "Just please let's not fight about it any more, I don't want to fight with you."

"Well that'll be a first." Mohinder muttered.

God, this man was impossible. Sylar tried to recall what it was that usually shut Mohinder up when he was running his sarcastic mouth. Pain and violence? Didn't seem like an option unfortunately. Yet. He settled his head on Mohinder's shoulder and the man's smell hit him, the shampoo he used, the natural scent of his skin. It triggered off a set of memories which were bittersweet, but at least comforting. Losing himself in the moment he nuzzled at Mohinder's neck, letting the man's curls brush his forehead. God, he loved those curls. They were soft and begged to be pulled. "I love you Mohinder," he whispered, and it felt true. "Do you love me?"

Mohinder made the sigh which is familiar to anyone in a relationship as the herald of compromise. "Of course I love you."

Sylar hooked his leg between Mohinder's and half-straddled him, kissing at his neck. "So let's fuck and say no more about it?"

Pushing at him but getting nowhere Mohinder started to struggle. "I knew it! You only ever apologise when you want sex!" Despite his anger he kissed back hungrily, grabbing at Sylar's arms. Sylar ground into him pulling at Mohinder's shirt until it started to come loose, buttons popping. He nipped at Mohinder's throat and wrestled with his fly.

"That's not true, it's just that I always want sex. And sometimes I have recently apologised." Sylar managed to free Mohinder's cock and started jerking it roughly, grinning at the ecstatic moans which he knew were involuntary and unwanted. He watched as Mohinder screwed his eyes shut and wondered whether he was thinking about someone else. "Stay with me Mohinder. I'm going to - "

"Please don't talk, you know I hate your narration, it's so pointless."

Sylar jerked harder, sighing. "Fine." When Mohinder started to whimper a little he removed his hand and started to rid himself of his pants. He got them halfway down his thighs before he heard Mohinder tut. "What?"

"Just stand up and do it, you'll be here all night. We have about four minutes until dinner is ready, though that should be more than enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sylar stopped and put his hands on his hips.

"Nothing, just hurry up."

Hurt, Sylar tried to continue but found he couldn't. Something bit hard at him, something which seemed more from this reality than his own, something he couldn't quite place. It was compounded by Mohinder's hurried reaction to his current expression.

"I'm sorry darling, I didn't mean it, come on..." Mohinder ran his hands over Sylar's chest and tugged him towards him by the collar.

"I'm trying." Sylar said through gritted teeth. He needed re-assurance. Was he not good in bed? Did he have 'issues'? Was he impotent? Through glassy eyes he looked at Mohinder. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing, you're fine. Look, I have to serve dinner, let's try again afterwards." Mohinder turned his face away as Sylar reluctantly rolled off him.

Sylar felt numb. Is this what marriage would be like? Fights and make-up sex which couldn't get going because secretly they hated each other? He dressed himself and stood, wandering to the small table where Mohinder was busy slamming down plates and avoiding his gaze. "You know you could be a little more supportive Mohinder, it's not my fault." He mumbled.

"No, I know it isn't." Mohinder turned back to the hob and muttered something under his breath.

"What?" Sylar demanded.

"I said it never is your fault is it? Nothing is ever your fault. I suppose it's mine for not turning you on enough, mine for not acquiescing to every perverted fantasy."

"Maybe if you loosened up and smiled once in a while, maybe if you knew how to have fun..." Sylar stopped in his tracks as he saw Mohinder's shoulders start to shake. He jumped up, powered by something inside of him which he didn't understand as yet. He gripped Mohinder's shoulders and was surprised when his husband spun around and buried himself tearfully in Sylar's embrace.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry my darling. I'm sorry you don't love me."

As Sylar's eyes snapped open he saw a white light and felt Mohinder slip from his grasp.

Husband #2 Luke Campbell

Sylar stared at the door, still shaking after the last encounter. His muscles ached and pulled as he tensed them, still thinking about how wrong Mohinder was, how arrogant he had been and how much he wanted him. He should go back. He wanted to go back to Mohinder, to fight and bite and scratch until there was nothing left of either of them. Surely that was how it was supposed to be, firey passion boiling them both from the inside out and periodically exploding in a mushroom cloud of hormones. He stared at the door again. It was purple for God's sake, what was he going to find behind this one? He fingered the key in his pocket, wondering what would happen if he just turned and went. Why should he choose? If he could float around the different realities he wouldn't just have power, he would have five chances to get each ability, five ways to rule the world.

"Five ways to be a God." he muttered to himself. But first it made sense to see them all, see what he was getting into. Sighing he tried the key in the door and pushed it. He was immediately hit with the smell of donuts and his mouth began to water involuntarily. The apartment was open plan; the kitchen on the left was a mess, a plastic donut maker abandoned with sticky tendrils of batter still clinging to it. To his right was an L-shaped couch which looked like it might swallow anything that dared touch it and a blaring TV with piles of DVD cases stacked precariously all around it. God, this place looked like a teenager lived he-

 

"Oh no." Sylar pushed the door closed behind him and saw that on the back of it was a picture of him and Luke at some amusement park or other, either side of a clown whose head had been cut out to allow for the door's spyhole. Cute.

 

"Hey, you're back!"

 

A shiver ran down Sylar's spine at the sound of Luke's voice and try as he might, he couldn't help but smile to see the kid alive. As Luke bounded toward him in a baggy pale blue hoody Sylar found himself accepting a crushing hug and squeezing back as the scent of donuts and drug store body spray invaded his nostrils. When Luke finally let go he saw that he was older, maybe twenty. His hair was a little longer and he had lost a little of the puppy fat he'd had the last time Sylar had seen him. "I'm back." he agreed, studying Luke's face for signs of the wariness and self-doubt he had had before, and which Sylar was sure his continuing influence on the boy would only have exacerbated.

 

"Want some donuts? I finally broke out that donut maker my cousin Natalie bought us for the wedding. It's not actually a piece of crap." Luke wandered into the kitchen and loaded two sickly looking pastries onto a side plate. "It's been in the box since then but it works."

 

Sylar regarded Luke with interest. He looked happy. Had he made him like this? Or was he happy despite his husband? Was he in denial over his misery like one of those 1950s housewives from the movies who cried themselves to sleep every night after their perfect dinner parties. "Wow, since the wedding? How long is that now?"

 

Luke looked up, trying to work it out. "Three years I guess...Yeah, three years in January right?" He handed Sylar the plate, sucking grease and sugar from the fingers of his other hand. "Try them, they're awesome."

 

He picked up a donut gingerly, taking a bite when he was sure that Luke wouldn't rest until he had. "Mmm." he moaned. "MMMM!"

 

"Right?" Luke beamed. "Course it's gonna be a bitch to clean but hey, worth it." He reached up to put his arms around Sylar, kissing him with shining lips. "What time do you want dinner?"

 

Sylar put down the plate on the kitchen counter pointedly and spun Luke round to press him against the door. "How about afterwards?" He kissed him hungrily, nipping at his lips and grinding against him until Luke started to fidget and try to move away. "What? What's the matter?"

 

Luke giggled, eyebrows raised. "What's gotten into you? You haven't kissed me like that since...like, ever."

 

"I haven't?" Sylar cocked his head, wondering what the hell kind of relationship this was.

 

"You know you haven't," Luke said softly. "Not....you know when we haven't been playing..." Luke whispered the last part even though there was no-one there to hear.

 

Sylar smirked. Playing? Nice. He nibbled at Luke's ear. "How do you know I'm not playing right now..?"

 

"Oh...OH! Oh okay...ahem. " Luke cleared his throat and widened his eyes in a performance that wasn't going to get him the Oscar but did make Sylar's cock sit up and take notice. "So Sylar, what are you doing here?"

 

Holding Luke flush against him, Sylar growled into his ear. "I came here from another reality and the last time I saw you you were only 17." He checked for the look on Luke's face and he wasn't horrified or crying, so he continued. "I don't know this reality, so why don't you give me the guided tour?" He dropped a few insistent kisses onto Luke's neck and squeezed his ass playfully.

 

Luke grinned, taking Sylar by the hand and leading him through the living room. "Well, Sylar, I'm 23 now and we've been married three years. But let me tell you, the sex hasn't dried up." He turned back and winked at Sylar, pulling him backwards through the doorway to their bedroom.

 

Sylar looked around. The room was dominated by the bed, big and squashy-looking like the couch. The walls were a mushroomy colour and the thick wooden bookshelves were covered in trinkets, photos and momentos. There were sea shells, pebbles, box frames full of diner logos on coasters and those little flags which held burgers together. There were framed pictures of what Sylar assumed to be family members. He recognised none of them except one baby which he couldn't place.

 

"So, Sylar, what are you going to do with me? The you from this reality might be home soon." Luke bounced his eyebrows, waiting for the next move.

Sylar smirked, pulling him down roughly onto the bed and smiling genuinely at the surprise in Luke's laugh. "Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, Luke Campbell." He growled.

"Mmm.." Luke pulled off his own hoody and quickly helped down his jeans. "My name's Luke Gray now, actually..."

 

***

So soft, sweet and pliable. Sylar couldn't believe how much he was enjoying this. He worked in Luke over and over, his moans like a soundtrack to his own comfort and need. Luke was satisfied, he knew, and would continue to be so. They were a couple - attuned to each others needs and more than willing to fulfill them. He found that he instinctively knew the answers to every question that Luke's body asked. Luke writhed beneath him, gripping and kissing Sylar where he liked to be touched - even that place below his hip which he thought nobody knew about. For the first time in his life he was making love how he had always been taught was right. He felt the love and affection, and the trust which allowed him to throw curve balls. They had played this game before - Sylar and Luke. He wondered what Luke would call him when the game ended.

"Mmmm, MMM, OH!" Luke bucked against him but didn't come. Sylar somehow knew it wasn't time. He bit down on Luke's neck and thrusted a few more times until sweat was running down his spine and Luke was becoming incoherent. "Come on...Come on..." he whispered, trembling. When they came in practised unison, they both laughed and cried at the same time.

***

Sylar let his head rest on Luke's, waiting for a sign he was awake. After a few minutes he heard him clear his throat and took the opportunity to squeeze him until he woke up, fidgeting and stroking at his chest hair.

"Hey, you awake, mystery boy?"

"Hmm, yeah I am. I guess my husband isn't back then?"

"No. And the stranger has some questions."

Luke rolled onto his back and stretched, smiling. "Okay, sure. Shoot."

Sylar leaned onto his side, looking over Luke with trepidation. "The last time I saw you, you were a runaway and I was a serial killer. How do you two live here like a sitcom when that's the truth of the past?"

Luke's eyes were two blue marbles, no suspicion, no questions. It seemed to Sylar that these questions had been asked before - every time that the twin weapons of self-doubt and self-loathing were loaded in the face of one who loved unconditionally. "Well," he cuddled Sylar close, kissing whatever area of skin was available. "We've both changed a hell of a lot since then."

The door bell rang insistently. Luke moaned and stretched, his bones cracking as he did so.

"Man...FUCK! What time is it?!"

Sylar let his eyes eek open and saw Luke reach for the alarm clock.

"God damn, didn't realise it was that time..." He launched himself off the bed and Sylar watched him pull on his jeans and hoody without underwear. "Why does she always see me obviously well fucked?" He dashed out of the room and Sylar sat on alert. He shuffled back, trying to listen to the muffled discussion at the door. Suddenly it closed firmly and he started to pant with anticipation, wondering who the 'she' was and whether she had any more surprises for him.

The door swept back and Luke entered. Sylar's breath stopped in his lungs and his eyes started to wet inexplicably.

"Look who it is!" Luke had in his arms a baby in a powder blue onesie, tiny plump fingers grasping at the air as the child gaped and stared. Luke sat in the middle of the bed, and Sylar saw something in his eyes - a look of warning and apology. "He's fine, look. He's happy."

Sylar watched as Luke held the baby up and lowered him to his lips, over and over. "Ba ba ba. Oh, you're so cute."

The baby laughed and Sylar felt himself put an arm round Luke's shoulder, pulling him closer. The incredulous look on Luke's face quickly flipped to a weak smile and Sylar's other arm circled the baby, brushing the fine hair on the back of his head with his fingers.

"Who's this?" he whispered, hoping that Luke would play along.

Luke laughed. "Well, Sylar, this is my son. Me and my husband's."

"Not biological."

"No, but our son all the same. Aren't you Jamie?"

The baby seemed pre-occupied with Sylar. Not reaching for him, but watching.

"My husband's always tense on Thursdays, cause it's the day the Company monitor Jamie. But he's fine, aren't you honey? And tomorrow we'll find out whether there are any manifestations. But there won't be. There never are."

The baby gurgled and Sylar stroked his head again, not really knowing why. Luke hugged the baby to him and Sylar gathered them both in his arms. When his forehead met the baby's, and the baby's met Luke's, the white light came.

Husband #3 Nathan Petrelli

Sylar had so many questions. He could still feel his son's soft hair and the warmth from Luke's body as he looked around him. He was on a porch to a grand house. He thought about ringing the doorbell but got the feeling that he shouldn't be here. He reached down to his pocket and instead his hand found a padded black leather purse. He looked down and gasped as he saw a neatly manicured hand. A female hand, with bright red nails. His head jerked up as the heavy blue door opened before him, and he stared straight into the face of Nathan Petrelli.

"Hello sweetheart. Forget your key?" Nathan gave his best fake smile and Sylar shivered.

"What's going on?" His stomach turned as he failed to recognise the woman's voice that fell from his lips.

"Nothing's going on honey, come in, we're amazingly completely alone." Nathan walked off and started to climb the stairs as Sylar stepped inside. He saw a reflection of himself in a large gilt-framed mirror. He saw a thirty-ish blonde woman dressed in a dark blue tailored pant suit. God Nathan, way to be original. As he watched the mirror he saw the image ripple and his real self emerged. He followed Nathan up the stairs, keen to have an explanation.

Seeing the open doorway to one of the bedrooms he entered, looking to Nathan's reaction. Was he always this woman? Did Nathan know who he was married to? Nathan stared back at him, unsmiling. "You have a good day?"

Sylar nodded uncertainly and advanced on Nathan. The purse was still over his shoulder and he shrugged it off embarrassed. "Did you?"

Nathan looked down. "It was fine. Peter says hi." When their eyes met there was a whole soap opera going unsaid but for the life of him Sylar couldn't put his finger on what it was. Nathan's hands were on his shoulders and he felt like this was unbridled affection. Great, another sexless marriage. He had never been attracted to Nathan physically. He looked too cold, too preened and perfect. However there was something about him. He was confident, he was cool, and right now he was on his knees. "I want you to know how much I appreciate this Gabriel. I know you make a lot of concessions to me." He undid Sylar's fly with practised efficiency and took out his cock in a very business-like manner, not pulling aside clothing any more than he had to.

Sylar looked down at Nathan's perfect hair and dragged his fingers through it roughly, mussing it up. He watched thick, rose-coloured lips slide up his cock and had to look away. He focused on the feeling but couldn't put himself in this visual. It was as if they were being watched at all times, a standard blow job which couldn't be called passionate, but was going to achieve its desired goal. He imagined it was Mohinder but the absence of those gorgeous curls was too jarring so he switched to Luke. He stroked Nathan's hair, holding his head firmly but not aggressively. He let his fingertips drift down the back of Nathan's neck and felt the hum of pleasure resonate through his cock. Still he couldn't let go. There was something about the way Nathan said 'Peter says hi', which made him take notice. He glanced down and saw the discarded handbag and it was like his brain was piecing things together. Nathan started to roll his balls in his fingers and Sylar moaned, thrusting a little. He wanted to see Petrelli spread over his desk, begging. He didn't want him to drop to his knees voluntarily, he wanted to force him down, taking his mouth and fucking it until he was too debauched to lie, too desperate not to submit. He felt himself about to come and dragged Nathan's head back by the hair, splashing over his face and grinning as he saw the look of surprise. When he was done he turned away, listening to Nathan cough and heave himself up. He grabbed the purse form the floor and started to rifle through it.

"Well I guess I owed you that...A little warning would be nice next time."

Sylar looked at him cleaning his face with wet wipes from his nightstand. Typical that he would be so prepared. He would be amazed if there weren't rubber gloves and antiseptic in there too. His fingers ran over something smooth in the purse. Photographs. Pulling them out his breath froze in his lungs and the purse fell to the floor. Peter was braced against a bathroom wall as Nathan gripped him from behind in what Sylar guessed was not the Heimlich manoeuvre. Peter was smiling. Actually they both looked blissed out. Sylar looked at Nathan, who was staring back at him.

"What are they?" Nathan had that look of all politicians when they know someone has information that they don't.

Smirking, Sylar threw the photos on the bed and waited. When Nathan saw him he froze, and then smiled just a little too late.

"That's us. It's us."

Sylar cocked his head and felt the shiver which told him Nathan was lying. No surprise? No garbled excuses? "It's not us."

"Yeah, it is. Where did you get them?" Nathan was playing with his shirt cuffs like he always did when he was nervous.

"I took them." Fight a lie with a lie, Sylar thought, and sure enough, Nathan stopped in his tracks.

"Listen, I...it wasn't...I'm sorry. How can we make this right?"

Sylar laughed. "You're fucking your brother? And you're asking how you can make that right with your husband? God, your family could give the Borgias some lessons."

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because my husband shapeshifting into my brother to fuck me is completely normal. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, okay? I know what you're thinking, I've had three weekends with Peter and it's only July, but I can go until January without him, I can. I just....I just needed it to be really him."

Sylar blinked. "So having me, and me as Peter, and me as that cookie cutter Senator's wife, that's not enough?"

Nathan shook his head, confused. "Senator's wife? You're the First Lady. And you do a great job." He moved to put a tender hand to Sylar's head and let the other hand rest on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. 413, it's yours."

"413?"

"You got it, you can go into the meeting as me, I'll stay here on lockdown. Just remember when those environmental campaigners come after me that I love you." Nathan kissed him with genuine affection and Sylar deepened it, thinking about what Nathan was saying. He was the President, and by extension, Sylar was the President. Nathan was trading off matters of state for carte blanche to have sex with his own brother. President, and all he had to do was give up three weekends of loveless sex every year, and okay, sometimes look like a woman, but president.

Pulling away, Sylar smiled. "I think we have a deal."

Nathan raised his eyebrows. "You're being very good about this, I thought you'd be mad."

Shrugging, Sylar hugged Nathan close and let a hand drift to his favourite part of Nathan's body, his perfect ass. "I'm a pretty open minded man Nathan. In fact, I'll give you a little treat for being so honest with me. Pick. Do you want to fuck me, or Peter, right now on this bed?"

Nathan smiled. "You."

As Sylar felt that familiar shiver he realised one of the downfalls of this setup. He could kid himself all he wanted that the sex and affection was less important than the power he would gain from this relationship, but deep down he wanted to be loved. Needed to be loved, because it was the one thing that people didn't want to lie about. As Nathan started to kiss him and undress him, his stomach started to turn again. He wasn't wanted. He was something that Nathan had to endure to get what he truly desired. Was that a life half-lived? He would outlive Nathan, like he would everyone else, but could he spend the next thirty or forty years living this lie? It had been about twenty minutes and he was already feeling like shit. Nathan's hands were stroking through his chest hair, he was probably thinking how he would prefer Peter's smooth boyish skin under his fingertips. As the thought entered his head he felt himself change and saw a genuine smile spread across his husband's face.

"Thank you baby." Nathan whispered as he held him close.

Throughout their love making, Sylar tried to forget he looked like Peter, but it wasn't easy when Nathan was calling his name. He wondered whether he reminded Peter he was his brother when he was inside him, or whether that was something he only did with a lookalike. "You're my beautiful baby brother" he kept saying, like he was convincing himself. Afterwards, Sylar changed back as fast as he could, and turned cold when Nathan rolled against his back, kissing him thankfully. "That was amazing. You even cried like he does. How did you know?"

As the tears continued to run down Sylar's cheeks, the white light came.

Husband #4 – Peter Petrelli

 

The new door was peeling, blue flecks of old paint still fluttering from it as he turned the key. Music was playing inside and Sylar somehow knew who it would be. Fate was just that deliciously twisted.

"Hey!" Peter yelled from the desk where he had his laptop open. "Did you eat?"

"No, did you?" Sylar glanced around the apartment. It was schizophrenic to say the least. You could tell which enclaves were Peter's and which were his. Just like at Luke's place there were stacks rather than shelves, and bits of paper, photos and momentos stuck to every flat surface like a living scrapbook.

"No, I forgot, you wanna get takeout?"

Sylar rolled his eyes, unseen. He just wanted to take hold of this annoying little bastard's skinny hips and fuck him until he screamed. Why did there have to be eating? How in God's name did he end up married to this idiot?

Warm, sure hands circled his waist and he relaxed somewhat as Peter's attention came to him. "Hey, I'm sorry. Why don't you go have a lie down and I'll cook, okay?"

A lie down did sound good. Sylar turned and pulled Peter by the hand, hoping he could find the bedroom. "Come with me, come help me relax." He dragged him off, luckily finding the bedroom door wide open with one half of the room neat and pristine and one littered with the remnants of a weekend away. He flopped down on the bed and sighed as Peter pulled off his shoes for him and lay on his side, watching him intently. As Sylar closed his eyes Peter languidly stroked his hair with one hand and rested the other on his chest. He pecked him on the cheek and whispered his love, his eyelashes leaving little butterfly kisses in their wake.

Sylar breathed deeply. The attention was certainly gratifying. Peter was touching his face ever so gently, occasionally dropping a kiss and sighing contentedly. "You feel tense Gabriel, you want a massage?"

Wordlessly Sylar sat up, pulling off his shirt and lying on his stomach. Gabriel. Of course Peter could never fuck Sylar, but a name change was all it took for him to open up. He moaned at firm, professional fingers on his aching muscles. He had never had a massage in his life, but he imagined this would be a pretty top notch one. Peter was a nurse after all, he knew physiology. He was responsive to Sylar's shifts and moans, kneading and unknotting until Sylar thought he might unravel completely.

He felt a little ashamed to be so turned on by this, after all it was what Peter did to old people. But every time those firm thumbs pressed into a hitherto untouched part of his aching flesh he felt a little sinful moan escape and heat grow across his groin.

"I want you to know I don't touch my patients like this. This is all for you." Peter lay flat over him, kissing his neck gently. "I missed you while I was away. I missed you so much."

Sylar hummed, letting his eyes flutter open momentarily. Peter was such a slob. His dirty clothes from his trip were still all over the bed. He reached out to knock the crumpled polo shirt from the bed and jolted as a quick-fire slide show rattled through his brain. Peter, on all fours, being fucked roughly. Peter on his knees, panting and begging. Peter bent over a dresser screaming and moaning in a way Sylar had never heard before. He was yelping, almost sobbing and shouting...."Nathan."

Peter stopped abruptly. "What?"

Sylar heaved himself up and turned over, rage burning in his eyes. "Nathan! You fucked him!"

"No! What are you talking about, I never fucked him." Peter was a terrible liar. His face immediately began to colour and he started to pull at his shirt hem. Sylar shivered with every untruth that passed the man's lips.

"Why would you lie to me when you know..." Wait. "You know I can tell, right? You know you can't lie to me."

Peter's bottom lip began to quiver. "I promised you I wouldn't and I...I didn't. Martha's Vineyard was the last time, I swear."

"Stop LYING!" Sylar grabbed the polo shirt and gripped it, letting the memories flow through him. "He fucked you over a dresser at the lake house. He bruised your hips on it. Let me see. If there's no bruises I'm crazy right?"

Peter swallowed, frozen to the spot. "I..."

Sylar stalked over to him, roughly grabbing his pants and pulled them down as Peter struggled ineffectually. There, on his skinny hip bones, were two lilac bruises. Sylar took his hands from Peter and backed away. He felt an unexpected disappointment, and remembered his sham marriage to Nathan. He wasn't good enough. Again. He sat on their bed and dropped the shirt like it might bite him. "Am I a bad husband?" he muttered.

"No. You're good to me. You give me everything I need, this is my fault. I'm the one who's to blame."

At least this makes the decision easier. Sylar thought. He could count Peter and Nathan out of his equation. They were welcome to each other. "You two...You're poison. You can't be together because you know how wrong it is but instead of just accepting it you drag other people into your mess. You ruin my life, just because you don't have any self-control."

"I know that! I know it!" Peter was yelling now, hot tears running down his cheeks. "It's not like you're perfect, I mean you could have laid down the law when you found out the first time but no, you have to be all forgiving and saintly because you're Gabriel now! You're not Sylar!"

"You want Sylar?" Sylar stood and pinned Peter to the wall with a flick of his fingers. "I'll give you Sylar you weak little bastard." He spun Peter, holding him against the wall and ripping at his jeans. "Is this what you want? Pain? Humiliation? You let him do things to you that you make me feel ashamed of wanting." He pressed his erection against Peter's ass and felt his own tears run down his cheeks. He was about to kick Peter's legs apart when he caught his reflection in their bedroom mirror. Peter was afraid, and in pain, and he was causing it. And it felt so good that he knew he had to stop, or kill him.

Flinging Peter to the floor, Sylar wiped his eyes and marched out of the bedroom. "Pack your things and get out," he spat, as the white light enveloped him.

Husband #5 – Matt Parkman

Picket fence. Dear God, these actually existed.

Sylar glanced over the house in front of him and saw that the door was open. Where did he live? Mayberry? He sighed, jogging up the steps and bracing himself.

The scent of cinnamon hit him as he crossed the threshold. The place was like a show house and Sylar felt immediately uncomfortable. In what kind of universe had he selected those drapes? "Hello?" he called.

"Oh you're back." Parkman's voice rattled out of a nearby doorway. "Took your time, we open in an hour and you know people will pay not attention to the ad and show up in like, five minutes." He walked into the reception room holding a dustbuster. "Are you changing?"

Sylar looked down at his jeans and sweatshirt. "What for?"

"What for? Because if we're ever gonna sell this place we need to come across as the perfectly groomed gay couple who took care of their house and didn't dress like they just came from a bar. I laid out some stuff for you in the bedroom, go on."

Parkman turned away from him as if there would be no further discussion and Sylar felt more like a family dog or a child than his husband. "Wait a minute, I..."

"I don't have time for your bullshit, okay? Can you please just do as I ask once in your damn life? I want out of this place, and you're not gonna ruin it for me, now go get dressed!" Parkman marched into the kitchen and the irritating buzz of the dustbuster started up. Sylar clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. He would put up with this until the universe decided he could get the hell out.

In their bedroom there were clothes laid out, just as Parkman said. Beige slacks, a blue shirt and a white sweater. Sylar looked around at the photos on the wall and saw that, yes his worst nightmare had come true and he was dressing like a J-Crew catalogue. In none of the photos was he smiling. The look on his face was one of resignation.

"Hey..." Parkman appeared in the doorway looking shamefaced before creeping towards him and taking him in a hug. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I just..."

Sylar let his hand stroke up Parkman's back and held him loosely. "I know."

Rubbing their stubbled cheeks together, Parkman sighed. "It'll all be so good once we move. They say it's one of the most stressful things you can do, right? Amen to that."

Forcing a smile, Sylar looked Parkman in the eyes. "I know I can be...difficult sometimes. I know you must get tempted to just use your ability and force me, and I'm grateful that you don't."

"What?" Parkman looked genuinely shocked. "Sweetie I would never...You don't have to be grateful that I don't use my ability on you. I would never do that."

The tingle came and Sylar' lip involuntarily wobbled. He was so sick of being lied to and used and not good enough. Not good enough for Parkman to have his own free will. Not good enough to be himself. "Sure, I know. I'm gonna get changed." He extricated himself and felt Parkman tap him on the backside before he left and started up the dustbuster again.

Sylar opened the bedside drawer and confirmed his own suspicions. Viagra, Jesus. He didn't know how he knew, it may have been residual memory from the other universe, but with Mohinder that made two people he couldn't get it up for. He picked up the packet of blue pills and saw that there were none missing. Maybe Parkman didn't even wanna try. Maybe they were Parkman’s and not his.

"You can throw them away again but you know you'll be digging through the trash later."

Sylar jumped as Parkman approached him. He hadn't even realised the dustbuster had stopped. "I er...I was just..thinking."

Parkman squeezed his shoulder. "Hey...one day you won't need it. I know it. We just need to...work on things."

Sylar stomach flipped. "I won't need it?"

"Sure, one day you'll...get over it." Parkman petted his hair like he was a particularly dumb pet and wandered off again. "We have about twenty minutes before they start showing up." He called back.

Shit. So he was the one who was dead from the waist down. Not that he was shocked, he couldn't find himself attracted to Parkman. Why the hell was he in this nightmare? He threw the pills back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Sitting heavily on the bed he touched the clothing that Parkman had laid out and let the memories flood through him. After a minute or so he stopped, and collapsed into sobs. It was all there, the abuse and the wearing down. The threats and mindfucks. They were buried beneath a layer of picnics on the beach and drives up to Rhode Island to watch the leaves turn. Matt had been fucking with his mind, replacing what he didn't want seen with Hallmark memories and a healthy dose of self-loathing.

Sylar dried his eyes and set his jaw. "I'm ready. Get me out of here, I'm ready to choose."

Epilogue

Sylar looked into his own eyes as his future self appeared.

"Times up anyway, lover boy. Decision time."

Mohinder, he thought. He wanted Mohinder, wanted to go back and fight for him, prove that they could work. The words just weren't coming out of his mouth. Nathan didn't love him, Peter was conflicted and cheating on him. Matt was the suburban nightmare that Sylar had lived in for much too long as a young man, and Luke and the baby? Luke and the baby seemed the most unreal of all of the scenarios. Luke had been happy. With him! The baby was normal, they were a normal family. How could that be real? How could it be true?

"I know what you're thinking." Future Sylar said. "I will always know what you're thinking. You have to say it to me. You have to choose."

"How can I choose? I choose none of them, I choose to be alone." When his other self didn't speak he felt the silence weigh heavily on his ears and had to fill it. "I can't be a father and a husband, I can't be that selfless, I can't keep my promises.I can't be good!"

"Not a good boy - not exactly. Something else, something more, like... Like you. Home, family, but not afraid to do the job I have to do." His future self repeated his own words back to him, the words he had spoken to Noah Bennet after he had lost his powers.

"Well maybe I can't have what I want!" Sylar screamed. "Maybe I don’t deserve what I...." He stopped himself, as a memory came to him that wasn't a memory. The whiteness faded and he found himself in the living room he shared with Luke. He was alone, and he felt it desperately. Around him the apartment was quiet. There were still toys scattered around but they were not baby toys, they were children's toys. He jumped as the door opened and Luke came through it, leading a small boy of about five by the hand.

"Hi Daddy!" The little one ran to him, leaping up onto his knee and squeezing him.

"Hey..." Sylar looked at Luke, who looked away. "Jamie, go and play in your room for a minute okay? I need to talk to Daddy."

The boy jumped down obediently and jogged off as Luke looked round at them. "Not the paints though Jamie, okay? Clean toys." He sat by Sylar and raised his eyebrows. "So, what's up?"

"Good day?" Sylar sat back and threw his arm over the back of the couch.

"Yeah, fine. Same as always." Luke swallowed and sat back too, still not looking at him.

He was lying, Sylar knew. But he didn't know. There was no shiver. He just felt it in other ways. "Are you telling me the truth?"

The pause was all he needed. He pulled Luke to him, kissing his cheek. "You can tell me, I'm your husband. I'm his father."

Luke's shoulders dropped. "He manifested. After everything, he still...He's like we were. What if he ends up like us? Do you remember the old us?"

Sylar let his head rest on Luke's shoulder. "Can we do anything?"

Luke shook his head. "He can have the same drugs as us but what happens if he finds out? What if he finds out and wants his ability? What happens after we're both dead?"

"Dead?" The realisation hit Sylar like a freight train. Out of Luke's sight he twitched his finger towards one of Jamie's toy cars, left on the floor. Nothing. He tried for a bolt of electricity. Gone.

"One day we won't be able to force him, and he's a kid, imagine saying to a kid 'Oh hey, you have super powers, just have these painful injections every three months and you'll never be able to use them'."

Sylar laughed a little despite himself and relaxed when Luke started to giggle too. Soon they were doubled over with tears in their eyes.

Luke gasped for air as he sat back on the couch. "This isn't funny. It's not."

"I know. I know, I just...Do you not think that we can handle this? I think maybe only we can."

Nodding, Luke curled into him. "You're probably right. And it's not like he can microwave people or take people's abilities, it's just invisibility."

"Then we just have to make sure we know where he is when we start doing it, no problem."

Luke smiled and sighed. "No problem."

Sylar blinked and the scene was gone. "I gave up my abilities for them. I gave up immortality."

His future self nodded. "So make your decision. Choose which life you want to lead."

The decision was simple. Since Chandra Suresh had walked into his shop and told him that he could be special, that he could have abilities and powers which would set him apart, he had craved it. The only other thing he had craved as much had been Chandra's son.

"I choose Luke." He heard himself say. "I choose to stop being selfish. They need me. That family isn't complete without me, I don't know what will happen to Luke, or that child if I'm not with them. I choose them."

As he uttered the words he found himself staring at Kelly Noble. She was slight, she looked like she needed a good dose of sunshine, and she was shaking like a leaf. He lowered his hand, and walked out of the house without a backward glance. When he got a block down the street he tutted at himself for not grabbing a yellow pages before he left the house. He needed to find a way to get some money and get to New Jersey without powers and he couldn't for the life of him make his brain think that that was an option. At least he was only in New York, it could be worse. He looked around him and spied a bus station. Digging in his pockets he turned up nothing. He had a feeling that this was going to prove impossible. Just then he saw a billboard he recognised for some reason, it was shabby and a patchwork of different old ads that had been torn in layers. "Mohinder."

Running towards the billboard he started to get his bearings, he was close to Isaac's loft, and that meant that he was close to Suresh. It took him twenty minutes but to his relief he was right. He ran up the stairs to the loft and stopped right outside the door. Mohinder would probably attack him, and that meant healing, but that was pretty involuntary. He wouldn't fight back, that would be his concession. He knocked firmly and moved away from the spyhole in case Mohinder saw him. As the door opened gingerly he used all his strength to hold it open while he stepped inside. Sure enough he felt a tremendous force knock him through the air and shielded his face as he smashed into a wall.

"Mohinder stop! Please, I'm not here to hurt you." He looked up and saw Mohinder hesitate as he stood over him. "Please believe me, I just need your help, and then I will never bother you again."

"My help?! You are unbelievable! I killed you once and I can do it again." He faltered as soon as the words left his lips and he saw Sylar was still cowering, not fighting back. He studied him suspiciously. "Do you have your powers?"

"I do, but I'm not using them, I won't use them. That's why I need help."

"Why won't you? Why should I believe a word you say?"

Sylar sighed. "I don't know, but please, I only need enough money to get me to New Jersey. That's it."

"Money?" Mohinder spat. "You want money? You're a cold blooded psychopath, why do you need money?"

"I'm not using my abilities and I need to get to New Jersey to help someone. Please! I know this sounds strange." Sylar shook his head. He must have been crazy thinking that this would work.

After staring at him for a long time, Mohinder backed away, and reached into his back pocket. He flung a black leather wallet at Sylar's feet. "You can take what's in there. And then get out of here with your hands where I can see them."

Sylar pulled out the money, which looked like a few hundred dollars. He was about to say he didn't need it all but thought that on reflection he should probably take it. The last thing he needed to be doing was begging from more of his previous victims. They weren't all as nuts as Mohinder. "Thank you." He left the wallet, stuffed the money in his back pocket and held his hands in the air. Walking backwards he finally made it out of the apartment, and ran in the direction of the bus station before Mohinder changed his mind.

***

Stepping off the bus, Sylar felt a little embarrassed. He had had no idea that the journey was only thirteen miles. He probably could have walked it. That was what abilities did, he told himself, they separated you from reality. Why walk for thirteen miles when you can steal a car and kill the owner, or turn a rock into gold and pawn it to pay for a private plane? Why not just fly without the plane? He wasn't far from Luke's house, but he still had no idea what he could say to him. I've seen the future and we get married? What kind of idiotic thing was that to say? He still hadn't thought of anything when he saw his Dad's old place and a few doors down from it, Luke's.

It was growing dark and the lights were on in the living room. A patch of very dead grass on the lawn told him that Luke had been here recently, if he wasn't still around. Walking purposely towards the house, Sylar started to shake. His husband. He hadn't even started to think how he felt about Luke. Maybe the weird mix of protectiveness and irritation with a slight hint of pride would turn into love after a few years together. He knocked on the door and listened. A few footsteps, a pause, and then the door swung open.

Luke's face was a picture. For possibly the first time in his life, he was speechless. He started to try and speak a few times but was frozen to the spot.

"Can I come in?"

When the boy stepped back to let him enter, Sylar felt it was out of instinct, not choice. His brain was so busy dealing with Sylar's presence that he couldn't make other thoughts stick in his head. He edged in and shut the door behind him, looking into Luke's eyes. "Is your mother home?"

The boy shook his head, and then, Sylar thought he saw a flash of something in his eyes. Was this the 'is he here to kill me?' thought that so many people had when they saw him? "Good, I only want to talk. I'm not here to hurt you."

Anger spread across Luke's face and he stretched out his hand, burning Sylar where he stood. Sylar screamed, the pain unbearable as his skin bubbled and smoked. Darkness came to him and the smell of burning flesh invaded his nostrils before he passed out.

***

Blinking awake, Sylar tensed to fend off another attack but none came. He painfully craned his neck, and saw Luke sitting in an armchair, sobbing. As he struggled to stand, his clothes fell off his body and he stood naked. He paused, watching for Luke's reaction. He just sat staring until Sylar lost patience and gave him an imploring look. "Well, do you have a robe or something?"

Luke made a noise that was half laugh half sniffle and he jumped to his feet, heading for the stairs. After he had jogged up a few he turned and beckoned Sylar after him. Luke's room was so him that Sylar probably could have drawn it before he got there. The curtains were closed, probably permanently, and the place was littered with clothes, shoes, books and various crap. Luke shut the door behind Sylar and handed him a dark blue towelling robe after letting his eyes run over his body. Sylar smiled. "You know, that's a very effective way to get someone naked, but they may not want to sleep with you afterwards."

"What do you want?" Luke murmured as he sat on his unmade bed. Sylar joined him, keeping a little distance between them.

"I was about to ask you the same question. I'm back. What do you want me to do?"

"You're back? It's been almost a year!" Luke spat. "You leave me alone and then after ten months and two weeks you come back and..." Luke faltered and realised what he'd just said. "I wasn't counting, I just...I just know."

"I'm sorry I left you, but I didn't want to bring you into my fight with my father."

Luke sniffed. "Whatever."

"I came back because....." Sylar stopped himself before he could lie. He couldn't start this with lies. "I came back to see if you wanted to come with me and live a normal life. If you want a normal life at all. No killing, no...crime. Just normal, you and me."

There was a long silence, which Sylar could certainly understand. He had come barrelling back into the kid's life and offered him, a seventeen year old for God's sake, a relationship. He watched Luke's lips start and stutter as he tried to form words. After what seemed like hours, he finally spoke.

"What do you mean, with you?"

Another long silence.

"I mean, with me, as my....Just...Whatever you want."

Luke shook his head and Sylar immediately understood. He was a teenager. He couldn't be allowed to have exactly what he wanted, it wouldn't be good for him. He stroked Luke's hair with the slightest touch by way of communicating his meaning. At this the boy sighed and stared at him. Sylar took his hand loosely and prayed for something to say. "I won't hurt you. I'll take care of you, I promise."

A second went by before Luke jumped into Sylar's arms, gripping him tightly and sobbing thick stuttering breaths as he garbled threats and promises. Don't leave me, never leave me again or I'll kill you, I'll kill myself, you'll regret it and so on until he was quiet and still in Sylar's unyielding embrace.

Beyond packing, catching a bus and finding some crappy motel Sylar had no idea what the plan was. All he could do was wait, he supposed. Wait for the future to happen. Luke leaned back, his face streaked with tears but still with a fierce countenance, one that Sylar could now imagine protecting his child. He rested their foreheads together, and smiled. "You won't believe what kind of day I've had. I've seen the future, five different ones. I've been cheated on, turned into a woman, fed viagra and tried to get money off someone with super strength who wanted to rip my lungs out."

Luke looked at him incredulously. "Ooookay. Anything better in the future? Robot butlers? Jetpacks?" He started to run his fingers over Sylar's face as if he couldn't believe he was really there.

"No. Just...donut makers and invisible toddlers. And you. I saw you."

Luke raised his eyebrows as he stroked Sylar's cheek. "Let me guess, jail? Supervillain jail, right?"

"No. You were....you had your own apartment, and you were married."

"Pfft. I'm never gonna get married. Marriage is for idiots who're so afraid of being alone they wanna drag someone down with them. Not me man."

Sylar smirked. "What, no perfect life with a loving husband and baby and a donut maker?"

"Husband? Two guys can't get married. Maybe in one of those fruity states like Florida, can they do it there?"

Laughing, Sylar hugged him. "So if I proposed to you right here you'd turn me down?"

Luke rubbed his cheek on Sylar's shoulder. "Yeah, because you'd be like a robot Sylar, or a weird guy in your body or something. If you did that I'd know it wasn't really you."

Sylar stood, letting Luke grip his waist with his legs, and laid him on the mussed up bed. As he kissed him softly the robe he was wearing loosened and Luke gasped at the burgeoning erection that was pressing into his leg. His shaking hands made their way beneath the robe and onto Sylar's back where his calloused fingers danced over the skin there. Sylar keened at the touch and ground his hips into Luke, deepening their kiss as he did so. Luke's fingers moved tantalisingly lower and edged towards his opening as Sylar fought to control himself. He thrust dryly at Luke's leg as the teenager finally teased his rough fingertips over the puckered flesh. "What...what do you wanna do?" He asked breathlessly.

"I don't know." Luke's eyes were closed and he looked peaceful and content for possibly the first time in his life. "I just wanna...be with you."

Not the time. Sylar told himself. Not for that, anyway. He reached for Luke's wrists and held them over the boy's head, kissing his throat. When he was reasonably sure that Luke wouldn't move he tugged his tshirt off and flung it to one side, continuing his kisses down over his collar bone and down the centre of his chest. He felt trembling fingers in his hair and along the back of his neck and paused. When Luke started to tug at his hair he continued downward, nipping at the skin by his happy trail and smiling faintly at the changes in Luke's breathing. He rolled onto his side to undo Luke's baggy blue jeans and tugged them down a little, palming his erection. "You don't wear underwear?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" Luke was really in no state to answer him, his head thrown back at the alien touch and his chest pumping. "I er.. didn't do the laundry."

Settling down between Luke's legs Sylar let his dry lips trace their way up Luke's cock. He kissed once, twice, then laved his tongue along the ridge and sucked him in dramatically, hollowing his cheeks and managing about three bobs of his head before Luke cried out and bucked into his mouth. He paused, then swallowed and took a breath, looking up at Luke from under thick black lashes and grinning at the look on his face which was half ecstasy and half defeat.

"Sorry, I guess I...was a little...." He sighed, giving up on coherent speech.

Sylar cuddled up to Luke, rubbing his cheek on his chest. "It's okay. We have all the time in the world."


End file.
